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I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.

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“If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.”

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“I am going to keep on defying you. I am going to shame you with my defiance. You remind me that I am a mere mortal and you are a prince of Faerie. Well, let me remind you that means you have much to lose and I have nothing. You may win in the end, you may ensorcell me and hurt me and humiliate me, but I will make sure you lose everything I can take from you on the way down. I promise you this is the least of what I can do.”

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What could I become if I stopped worrying about death, about pain, about anything ? If I stopped trying to belong ?

Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear.

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If I cannot be better than them, I will become so much worse.

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She’s looking around the forest, as though if she can prove it isn’t magic, then nothing else is, either. Which is stupid. All forests are magic.

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No matter how careful I am, eventually I'll make another misstep. I am weak. I am fragile. I am mortal.

I hate that most of all.

Even if, by some miracle, I could be better than them, I will never be one of them.

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I don't desire to do as well in the tournament as one of the fey. I want to win. I do not yearn to be their equal.

In my heart, I yearn to best them.

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